


Tie-In

by jaqueline_nutweasel



Category: The Colbert Report RPF, The Daily Show RPF
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Love, M/M, Ties, and lots of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:17:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqueline_nutweasel/pseuds/jaqueline_nutweasel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...You look away, you step back, you leave me standing here with a huge question mark, every time. Every fucking time. One day I will take this tie of yours and strangle you with it. Or so I keep telling myself, and the years pass us by... "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tie-In

Your hands fumble with the knot as always. All those years and not once I saw you get it right. Why is that, I wonder?

You stand in front of the mirror, tie loosely hanging around your neck. It is made from steel-gray satin and matches the color of your eyes. You lift your chin defiantly from the collar of your shirt and you stare yourself down. Mirror-you stares right back before it glances sideways over to me.

I watch myself in the mirror.

As I sit on the couch, one leg casually draped over the other with a glass of white wine in my hand, I watch myself watching you, fighting with the tie; the weight of social convention, a leash of cloth and iron around your neck that you always wear gracefully and with mild contempt.

Your eyes never leave me as your hands resume their work.

They look small and pale and soft. You smooth out the fabric of the tie, than fold and twist it with nimble fingers but to no avail. You want the balance and symmetry of the Full Windsor, but what you get is a crumpled cloth-cluster. What I get is a sigh and a pitiful look.

Humor me, my little fraud, as I will humor you now.

I rise from the couch and walk the few steps over to you. When I take the ends of the tie from your hands, our fingers touch briefly.

I wish you would finally tell me. Tell me, friend, what is this?

I can feel your eyes on me while I slowly tie your knot. When I look up to meet your gaze, the answer is staring me right in the face.

I blink – surprised –

and it's gone.

You look away, you step back, you leave me standing here with a huge question mark, every time. Every fucking time. One day I will take this tie of yours and strangle you with it. Or so I keep telling myself, and the years pass us by.

So I do what I always do when I get frustrated: I joke, I tease, I challenge:

“There must be something about me that makes you forget how to do a tie. Maybe I have a secret superpower.” You turn around and you smile at me, blue eyes sparkling. “Your dazzling looks, and charming personality of course. Makes it hard to concentrate on anything that isn't … well, you.” You flirt, you take up the gauntlet. I can't help it, I smile as well. “Indeed, only I deserve my full attention. That's why I have the attention span of a … … tell me again, why do I care about your ties?” Your smile gets coy. “Mhm, maybe because you like me, a little bit?”

It is an act, a routine we play in various ways. Usually it ends in laughter that dissolves the tension and leaves us both amused and satisfied. And always a little sad.

Isn't that weird? And isn't it weird that tonight of all nights I'm feeling like hijacking this whole routine, just to see what happens? To find out what this is...

This tie between us. Old and weathered, but its many layers are tightly wrapped. It keeps us together and I'm never afraid to loose you in the mess that life keeps throwing at us. I could try and ask you this questions, but I have realized that on this you are as clueless as I am.

So I lift my hand and gently touch your cheek. “I do like you more than just a little bit.” There is a ripple that goes right through you, surprise written all over your features. You try to hide it behind a laugh but it is unsure and faltering. I'm not joking now and you can see it. You stare at me with blazing eyes, demanding an answer and scared of it at the same time. But you are not pulling away. You just stand there silent and motionless.

This is surreal, all right, and I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm mesmerized by your blue eyes and the feeling of your skin as I caress it softly, enjoying the faint traces of stubble on you cheeks. You inhale deeply before you close your eyes and finally lean into my touch.

You look truly beautiful like this.

I keep my mouth shut, in case a joke comes out, anything that would turn this moment from its head back onto its feet again. I rarely leave my comfort zone these days and I like it out here, in the wild, where anything might be possible, anything could happen. I grab you by your tie and pull you towards me. Slowly but firmly. You don't resist at all. I am a good deal taller than you and your head fits perfectly in the crook of my neck. You let it rest there, without a word, and I can feel the warmth of your breath through my clothes and ghosting over my skin. How marvelously strange and yet familiar. It feels only natural to wrap my arms around you and hold you close.

I don't know for how long we are just standing there, cherishing the others scent and warmth. Your one hand rests against my chest and you hold on to my jacket as you look at me eventually. Your lips are pressed together and in your eyes there is the same worry of saying something that will irrevocably destroy this moment, but the look on your face is as eloquent as ever. You tell me about sadness and regrets, about joy and trust, about the choices that we made, knowingly or subconsciously, which made us into what we are today. There is no going back, you tell me.

I know this, my friend, and I'm not thinking about going back. To be honest, I'm not thinking about anything right now. I just wonder how right it feels to have you so close to me. It is both exciting and comforting, this intimacy. All our playful flirtation, delightful as it might be, suddenly seems like a poor substitute for this. Why would we content ourselves with so little? Because we're obligated? Because of our families? Jobs? Public reputation? Fear? Because we're not young anymore like we were when I first met you?

All right, now I'm thinking. Hard. But we are not getting any younger, you and I, as especially you like to point out on a regular basis. Isn't it about time we completed this chapter of our lives, if only to see what we missed out on? You bury your head on my shoulder again and your whole body presses up against mine.

“Stop it.” you whisper.

“What?” I ask quietly, while I stroke your back.

“Thinking. It's too much, too fast and too loud. You make my head spin.”

I chuckle. “You're one to talk.”

But you're right, of course. I should stop analyzing and dissecting and just be. But this is something we both suck at horribly. Or so I thought, until I feel your lips on the skin of my neck as you kiss your way upwards and when our lips finally meet, my mind evaporates like a dandelion in a sneeze.

You are actually a great kisser. I never knew.

Well, how should I have? I never even wanted to know, I swear to God. Except for that one time, when we..., and the other time after... and, well, there was this one little moment, and ok, there might have been a few times when I admittedly asked myself if maybe, just maybe, I wanted to know. I smile against your lips. My mind is at ease now that this questions is answered.

Your hand on my lower back pulls at my shirt and sneaks under it, trailing goosebumps in its wake. When we break apart, you keep your eyes closed. Only when I loosen the tie around your neck do they fly open. Your tongue is wrestling a question, the same question that is on my mind, but that I can't answer. So I just continue by popping open your shirt-buttons, one after the next, down your chest, challengingly slow. You stay silent. I smooth the fabric over your shoulders to kiss the skin there and your breath hitches. When my fingers begin to draw a pattern down your chest, you finally make a sound that is half a laugh and half a sob. I stop to look in your eyes. You shake your head and step away, self-consciously tugging at your loose shirt.

“Look at us. What are we even doing?” The question is out.

“What does it look like?” I avoid it.

“Making-out?” Thanks for making it sound so simple. Parry-riposte, you infuriating control freak.

“Than that's what we do. Making out. You ok with that?”

I ask it carefully, because I dread the answer. To my surprise you give a short incredulous laugh. “Am I ok with...?! Stephen, ... are you sure this jelly is what you want? I'm certain that if you are... curious, you could easily find, you know, a... a young and handsome guy with a lot more experience in this than I have and...”

Something just clicks into place inside my head. And I understand.

When I speak, it's not me, it's ME. “Hold it right there, Stewart!” I must have hit the right tone, because you do in fact shut up. Nice. I continue as nonchalant as possible: “For a moment there I had the impression you were implying that I was...” - I throw in a small pause for dramatic effect - “... gay! I assure you that this is not the case. Straight as a razor, that's me!”

You raise a mocking eyebrow. “Wow. Fooled me for a second... must be just me then.”

I smile and drop the act. I grab you by the hips and pull you gently towards me again. “It IS just you, Mr. I-got-a-drawer-for-everything. I have no interest in the guys out there, young and beautiful as they all might be, I'm interested in you, right here, as my trusted friend who I want to have this experience with. You have no problem hosting the Oscars in your underpants, so save your self conscious act for your audience and just answer my question: are you ok with this?” Instead of an answer you just stare at me for a second longer before you slowly shrug off your shirt, never breaking eye contact. It falls to the floor with a small rustling sound and you guide my hands to pull your undershirt over your head and out of the way as well. My eyes wander over your bare chest, a sight not new to them, but this time they are closely followed by my hands. And this is new.

You blush just the tiniest bit.

“This is different from public underpantsiness at the Oscars, you know.” You sound raw and breathless as you take off me jacket, bow-tie and everything else until I stand stripped to the waist in front of you, just like you stand in front of me. You study me and your voice is little more than a whisper when you say: “Because when I look at you, I see a beautiful and brilliant man whose opinions matter to me a great deal, and I want... I want you to like what you see as well.” I let my hands come to rest on your naked shoulders. I kiss you again, slow and intimate and wet. There are no words that could describe how you make me feel right now.

“Don't you worry.” I whisper against your lips in between kisses. “You invented beautiful and brilliant. I want to have all of you, everything you're willing to give me.” You draw in a breath and wrap your arms around my neck as you pull me in for another kiss. As you press up against me I can feel how hard you already are. I grasp your hips and we fall into a slow rhythm, rubbing against each other through layers of cloth. You moan, a wonderful, a delicious sound that spreads warmth through my entire being. My hands wander down your body to unbuckle your belt. When I said I wanted all of you, I meant it. It falls to you to draw the line.

“Oh... oh... oh... fuck...” you' re panting against my neck. I stop, unsure of what you want me to do. That's when you, again, take a firm hold of my hands and urge them to continue.

“Don't you dare!” you say roughly. “Don't you dare stop now. I promise you, if you leave me like this, I... I will...” I feel a smug smile creeping over my features as I continue to slowly open your button and zipper. “You will what, mhmm?” My hand sneaks inside your boxers and I wrap my fingers around you. You gasp again, all words lost and you stare at me, eyes wide and dark and lips slightly parted. Oh dear, I'm into this big time...

You hold onto me as you start to move in my grip, hips rolling slowly back and forth, your fingers on my back pressing into my skin. There is pleasure written all over your features and you watch me from heavy lidded eyes that you are unwilling to close. I want to remember your face like that.

When you stop moving you lean against me to catch your breath. Your one hand plays with my hair, the other is draped around my waist. The look in your eyes when they meet mine again is one of strange amazement.

You take my hand and place it over your heart. I can feel it racing underneath the skin. My own heart suddenly jumps and spins and is all but fucking tap dancing in my chest. If it had a face it would be grinning like a maniac, that's for sure.

Your hands move down my body and your fingers make quick work of my belt and pants. You push them to the floor and I step out, leaving shoes and socks behind as well. It feels a little weird to stand in front of you naked and aroused like this. But you watch me with such fondness and admiration that I can't help but wonder what it is you see. It makes my heart swell and my knees shake. Again, I reach out for you, wanting to touch and be touched. The warmth of your body reminds me of all the times you were there for me, when a joke threatened to turn on its master and bite me in the ass. All the times you stood up for me, unflinching and unquestioning;

I smile as I study your face. My fingers trace the lines and wrinkles life put here and there and surely I'm to blame for some of them. It's a thought I like a lot. Your eyes hold mine and they seem so incredibly blue, shining with something I can't quite fathom. You're shivering slightly under my gaze. “The way you look at me...” you say, “it almost scares me.” I hook my fingers into your waistband and I lean forward to whisper in you ear: “Take these off for me, will you? Let me look at you.” I hear you swallow. You take a few steps back and slowly push your pants and boxers down. They pool around your ankles and you look at me a bit fearful, cheeks burning and hands fidgeting. I take them into mine to still them for I truly enjoy the sight of your naked body. Lovely is the word that is on my mind. And since it is on my mind I have to spell it out loud. You respond to my compliment as you always do. You try to waft it away with a shake of your head and a small giggle. “I mean it.” I say insistently and before you can say or do anything else, I close the distance between us. Our embrace this time is much more urgent and much less insecure. Our bodies are warm and soft underneath our hands. We let them roam freely. And my skin is burning where your crotch presses against me.

We continue like this for a while, exploring each other and sharing pleasure, until you try to get out of your clothes that are still draped around your ankles. “Let me.” I say and you become still as my hands trail down your body, over the smooth curve of your back, down your legs, between them. By the time I'm kneeling at your feet to undo your shoes, I have you panting. When I get up again, I realize, that I'm smiling smugly, because you punch me playfully in the chest. You look at me with a warm smile and slightly out of breath and remove my glasses. “Yes, well done, you.” you whisper before you start trailing kisses along my neck and collarbone. I can feel your smile on my skin as you nudge me gently towards the couch.

I pray that I am not dreaming. I pray that I won't wake up any second now, only to find myself drooling on a couch in a hotel room in Washington, still waiting for you to get ready. That would be just so unacceptable. So very very unacceptable. I close my eyes. I start to count down. 3. 2. 1. And I blink – surprised.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I solemnly swear that I was up to no good while writing this little thing. RPF is not really for me but I emerged victorious from a battle against my own shame and embarrassment. Anyways, I know nothing about these people and I honestly don't care. Mainly, this was written to spite those who use their moral concern for other people's dignity as a flimsy cover-up for their own homophobic tendencies.   
> But I do want to apologize for one thing: the cheese factor is strong in this one. And I am its parent. I am so very sorry ;-)


End file.
